Without His Lifelong Friend
by CrazyViolin
Summary: Merry and Pippin are in Gondor for their final days. I'm told this needs a tissue warning! Please, please, pretty please R&R!


Without His Lifelong Friend 

Lindalëriel

The falcon wheeled above the white towers of Minas Tirith, it's dark body highlighted in the brilliant blue of the summer sky. Gracefully it rose suddenly higher and hovered for a moment. Swiftly, it tucked in its wings and plunged straight down to the ground, just for the pleasure of it. The falcon pulled out of the freefall just before colliding with the ground. Happily, the falcon returned to its playful whirling.

Pippin sighed and stretched, popping old disagreeable joints as he did so. His eyes never left the falcon as he sprawled on the soft grass in one of Minas Tirith's lower gardens. The falcon became a small dot near the horizon. Flying to the west, Pippin noted. _'I wonder what Frodo is doing? And dear old Sam,'_ he thought, as he was wont to do lately. The falcon, far distant, made another spectacular dive. Suddenly, a thought struck Pippin. _'I wonder what it would be like to fly?'_

Pippin rolled over on the ground, his joints protesting each movement. Merry was lying on his back beside Pippin, his eyes closed, seeking the warmth of the sunshine. For a moment, Pippin watched his cousin, lying peacefully and contentedly on the soft grass. There was a look in his face, though, a subtle look of pain and discomfiture. Pippin could understand that perfectly. Merry was his senior by eight years; of course his joints would be more uncomfortable. Better to be honest, Merry hurt a lot more than Pippin did. His hair, once a beautiful curly honey colour, was now actually a little sparse and stark white. The wrinkles in his face were deep from so many different emotions over so many years. The easiest emotion Pippin could trace, though, was pain and fear. He wondered, _'What's Merry afraid of?'_ Then it seemed to hit him all at once. _'Must be his arm and those nightmares again.'_ Years, many years, had passed since Merry and Éowyn had defeated the dreaded Witch King, but still the hurt Merry sustained to his arm did not fully heal. Pippin felt he needed to wake Merry up before the nightmare got any worse.

"Merry?"

"Hm?" came the reply with no hint of sleepiness. Merry had been awake the whole time.

"What d' you think it'd be like to fly?" Pippin asked.

Merry's eyes shot open and he turned his head to survey his cousin. "Fly?" he asked. "Fly! What put such a ridiculous idea into your head?"

Pippin shrugged. "I just saw a falcon is all, Merry. I wondered what it would be like to fly."

"Not fun at all," Merry said, scrunching his nose in distaste.

Pippin mirrored his cousin's expression. "Well, I think it would be fun. Imagine, Merry! Diving through the air just for fun!"

Merry shuddered. "No, thank you!"

"Oh, you're just a scaredy-cat!" Pippin teased. Most Brandybucks had a healthy fear of heights, and Meriadoc Brandybuck was no exception. "It would be amazing, Merry!"

"Well, you go flying, then, Pip. I'll stay here and watch." Merry closed his eyes and settled back down.

"I couldn't fly without you, Merry," Pippin said evenly, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Merry looked at Pippin out of the corner of his eye. "What? Why?"

"I wouldn't want to go anywhere without you, Merry."

Merry's stomach fell at that. He looked at Pippin, then, his entire concentration on his younger cousin. "You've had to in the past."

"Mm," Pippin conceded. "But I was always more scared without you there."

"Now who's 'a scaredy-cat'?" Merry asked slyly.

That familiar, playful grin spread across Pippin's still boyish face. "Oh, stop it, Merry! I'm serious."

"Sure you are, Pip." Merry said it in jest, but he knew that Pippin was very serious and that knowledge frightened Merry. They slipped into silence. Pippin's breathing levelled out as he slipped slowly into dreams. Merry listened to him breathe, something he had done for so many years when they were younger.

"Pippin?"

"Mm…?"

"If you were to be a bird, Pip, what would you be?" Merry turned and looked at his cousin. Pippin was asleep.

He still answered, though. "Falcon…" he mumbled.

Merry smiled and ruffled Pippin's curls softly. He was still Merry's little lad. The white curls falling into slightly dulled green eyes hardly changed that. Nor did the wrinkles that now lined his face. Beneath the wrinkles and white hair, there was that hobbit lad, itching to get into trouble stealing Gandalf's fireworks, or curious about an old skeleton sitting on a well, or wanting one more forbidden look at a seeing stone. He was still the same curious Pippin-lad. _'I wonder what Frodo's doing, and Sam?'_ Merry thought.

Frodo, looking as he had before the terrible ordeal he went through with the Ring, was sitting on a white shoreline, drawing figures in the sand with his toes. Sam was next to him, lying on his back, watching the clouds drift lazily by. Frodo looked up past Pippin and smiled. Pippin tried to get up from his curled- up sleeping position to run to Frodo, but he couldn't move. Pippin was dreaming

"Merry!" Frodo said. "Merry, are you coming?"

As best as he could, Pippin turned towards where Frodo was looking. Merry was there, standing, confused and uncertain. But he wasn't the Merry Pippin had left in the garden in Minas Tirith. He was young Merry, honey brown curls, bright blue eyes and all.

"Frodo?" he asked.

"Come, Merry, you can come with us now!" Frodo laughed, just like he did before the Ring.

Merry took a few faltering steps forward. Frodo stood. Merry turned back. "What about Pippin?"

Frodo's eyes softened as he looked at Pippin. "He will come later. He always follows you, Merry, you know that."

Merry's grin cocked sideways as he bent down and gently stroked Pippin's curls. "Oh, my Pippin. I can go now, Pippin. There's nothing left for me to do. Good-bye, my little falcon."

Pippin's eyes flew open. "Merry!" Old joints creaking, Pippin sat up as quick as his stiff, protesting limbs could handle. He hovered over his still cousin. "Merry!" Pippin said again.

Merry did not respond. He was silent, not answering Pippin for the first time that Pippin could ever remember. Merry, though, looked more peaceful than he had for quite a while. Through tear flooded eyes, Pippin looked at his cousin. "Merry, please don't… don't forget me."

Aragorn looked at the lone hobbit sitting on a balcony, looking over Pelennor Fields. He wouldn't move unless he absolutely had to. He wouldn't eat unless he was pleaded with to do so, something very un- hobbit like. He didn't do anything. Aragorn came and stood beside his smallest knight. For a moment, neither spoke.

"I suppose you aren't too happy with me, are you, Strider?" Pippin asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Aragorn looked down at his companion. "Why would I be upset with you?"

"Acting like I am. You know… without…" Pippin took a deep breath. "Without Merry."

A sad smile spread across Aragorn's face. "It is hard to be alone, Pippin?" he asked.

The hobbit only nodded. As he looked across the peaceful field, Pippin saw it as he had so long ago. Great, noble mumakil charging towards the city, trolls pushing large siege machines closer to the white walls, and thousands of orcs coming forward to battle and kill any who stood in their way. Another sigh escaped Pippin's lips. Pelennor returned to the peaceful grassland it truly was. "You can't ever forget, can you, Strider?" he said. "It always stays with you, forever."

A look of surprise crossed over Aragorn's eyes. It was many times this hobbit had surprised people with his intelligence. "No, I have not forgotten, Pippin. Not once," he said, a hint of remorse in his voice. "No, I don't think it ever really leaves you."

"Hmph," Pippin said. He cocked his head to one side, dull eyes sparkling slightly. "I wonder what Frodo is doing? And Sam?"

Aragorn grinned down at Pippin. "What about Merry?" Instantly, the King regretted his words, fearing he had brought his old friend more pain.

Pippin looked up at Aragorn, not one trace of tears in his eyes. "Oh, I know what Merry's doing. He's waiting for me to catch up. He always waits for me, Strider."

The white shores stretched on forever, it seemed. They were beautiful, more so than even Gandalf had described. The waters lapping the shores were calm, and the deepest blue capped with delicate white foam. He grinned and looked down, squishing the white sand between his toes. It felt so good! A dark shape silhouetted on the white sand caught his attention. He looked up, smiling broadly.

"Merry!" he cried happily. "Merry, I've made it!"


End file.
